"Tilly-vally, tilly-vally!" interrupted the priest. "It is naught! I have lived, I fear, a selfish life, and I would fain do some good before I die. I love not these new-fangled ways better than Father Barnaby himself. I am sure a parish priest's life is hard enough as it is, and they say the Lutherans are for having sermons every Sunday, and Scripture readings, and what not. No, I love no new fancies in religion, but I do not hold with all these burnings and imprisonments and the like. I think kindness and good treatment far more likely to bring men back to the truth." "Why, there was Father Thomas, the librarian at Glastonbury; in his youth he was greatly taken with such of these new notions as were current—Lollardism, men called it then—and some of the brethren were for having him hardly dealt by." "'Let him alone, let him alone!' said the abbot—that was Abbot John, not the present Abbot Sylvester—'Let him alone,' says the abbot. 'Let me deal with him.'" "So he calls Brother Thomas, and after some talk, he makes him his secretary, and custodian of all the books." "'And, Brother Thomas,' says he, 'I would have you take especial care of the Latin authors, and cause some new copies to be made of Cicero his Offices, and of Virgil and Horace, and spare no expense upon them.'" "Well, that was the end of Brother Thomas's hankering after heresy." Jack could not help smiling at the story, though it was, in some respects, a sad one. "And now I have discharged my errand, and you must make what use of it you will," said Father John; "only, if you love me, let no word of the matter go abroad. I have given them warning at the Hall, also—and, if I have done wrong, the saints forgive me. Alack, my poor bones!" "If your reverence will take some brief repose, we will have supper ready directly," said Master Lucas; "here comes my good housekeeper. Cicely, let our meal be prepared directly; and, let every thing be of the best, since this good father is to be of our company." "Nay, I know not if I ought to remain here," said Father John, who had been solacing himself all through his long and, to him, arduous journey, with the thought of the master baker's good cheer. "I ought, perhaps, to go to the convent—" "I am a villain, if you leave us this night," said Master Lucas sturdily. "It were foul shame to me to let such a reverend father, and my son's benefactor to boot, depart from my roof fasting. Make haste, good Cicely, and do your best; and you, son Jack, attend me with the lantern, that I may draw some good wine for our honored guest." "What is to be done now, son?" asked Master Lucas, so soon as they were alone in the cellar. "Indeed, father, I cannot say," returned Jack. "I see not but I must abide the storm." "By our Lady, that shall you not!" said his father. "This good old man has given us warning, and it were a mere tempting of Providence, not to profit thereby. When will Davy Brent be sailing again?"